Missing the bus: a ritual

A dog for all seasons

Early each Sunday morning, my twin sister Jan and I would take our
Maltese X terrier, Silky, for a walk. We were about nine years old and we did this automatically, without fail.

It didn't matter if the weather was warm or
cool, we'd dress appropriately, put Silky on a lead, and disappear
for about an hour. The only time we didn't go for a walk was
when it rained.

Phew!

We always had to be on the lookout for dead birds and
lizards because if we didn't, Silky would roll in them. On several occasions my sister and I failed to see a small corpse laying ahead.

Naturally, Silky would find it and roll until we yanked him off. Then we'd hold our noses and try to talk; it sounded even funnier trying to sing. Of course we'd have
to bath Silky when we arrived home - much to his disgust!

In Winter, Jan and I wore gloves, boots and overcoats, but Silky didn't have a coat like the dogs do these days. Despite the cold, he never whined and always wagged his tail when the lead came out.

Sometimes it was so cold we'd see our own breath when we exhaled and our feet would go 'crunch' on the
frosty grass.

During the summer months, we'd shoo the flies off each others' backs
and stick our fingers in our ears as we passed cicadas drumming
in the gum trees.

Sometimes we'd walk to the shops; other times we'd head for the
park and play on the swings and slippery dips. Silky would sit on my
lap while the swing rocked back and forward.

Jan would
lift him onto the babies' slippery dip to slide down by himself.
Occasionally we'd explore new places or walk to school, a few
kilometres away.

Missed it again!

If we felt the walk wasn't long enough, we dawdled until the bus passed – just to be sure to miss it.

Mum knew what we were up to, but didn't let on. Dad also turned a
blind eye to our ritual. It lasted a year or so, then we moved to a
new area.

Missing the Sunday School bus was the highlight of my week and I think my parents would agree.